


Creep of the Year Award

by fat_fish_in_space, Nilaza



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: But a good singer, Crack, M/M, Motti is a total creep, Not to be taken the slightest bit seriously, Pining, Songfic, Stalking, This is crack, Threats of Violence, Underwear Sniffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 15:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17185937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fat_fish_in_space/pseuds/fat_fish_in_space, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilaza/pseuds/Nilaza
Summary: Yes, this is a songfic. Yes it’s Motti/Tarkin and briefs sniffing, and yes, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds.





	Creep of the Year Award

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics are from fat_fish_in_space, and EustaceS and me contributed with “plot”.  
> Yes, the song is based on _Hellfire_ from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_

Motti returned to his quarters after the meeting with Governor Tarkin, General Tagge, and Lord Vader. Even the threat of suffocating either by the Sith’s hand, or by Tagge’s deadly boring talk, hadn’t been enough to distract him.

 _Oh mighty Emperor_  
_You know I am a working man_  
_Of my battles I am justly proud_

 _Oh mighty Emperor_  
_You know I’m so much better than_  
_Vader, Piett or maybe even Thrawn_

At first, he was simply mumbling the lyrics quietly. It was beyond him, whatever it was that was happening to him. Conan was a man of faith, faith in the Empire and its power – he believed in the order of things. But faith could not save him now. Only one man had been in his focus during the meeting.

  
Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.

 _Then tell me Emperor_  
_Why I see him standing there_  
_Why his icy eyes still freeze my soul_

He banged a fist on his desk and cussed at the wet patch he could feel forming on his underwear. Conan had been painfully hard during the meeting. A fleeting glance from the Grand Moff was enough to excite him. Tarkin filled his flesh and bone, his cock, his every breath and thought. With shaking hands, he punched in the code to the locked drawer in his desk, took off his gloves and pulled out a pair of black briefs. They were Tarkin’s. He squeezed the material in his hands and buried his nose in them, taking in the masculine scent and the whiffs of expensive cologne. Notes of dry citrus and grapefruit reached him, underlined by musk and the clean scent of rice powder.

Conan whimpered in need. Nine Corellian Hells, this was so wrong. He was a 43 years old man. He had a wife, for stars’ sake! But to kneel before Tarkin… To take him in his mouth, serve him and please him. There was nothing he’d like better. He inhaled the addicting scent again.

 _I see him, I smell him_  
_The moon caught in his graying hair_  
_Just makes me lose my mind and all control_

He was singing loudly now, clutching the briefs desperately. He trashed around his office, eyes wild and a whimper on his lips. Conan wanted to serve, to be near Governor Tarkin. He just wanted to feel his presence, to breath in his cologne, to prostrate himself at his feet and do his biddings. Motti would give everything to Tarkin. His legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees.

 _Like laser_  
_Hell laser_  
_A blaster shoots my soul_  
_This burning_  
_Desire_  
_Is turning me traitor_

It was wrong to sneak into another man’s quarters and go through his drawers, taking something so intimate as his underwear. But he needed it. Conan touched the briefs reverently, feeling the soft fabric against his fingertips. In his mind’s eye, he saw Tarkin standing right before Motti, those icy eyes fixed on him mercilessly. His cock was as hard as durasteel, so painfully full for such a long time. Those elegant fingers, icy blue eyes, soft white skin, fine grey hairs and high cheekbones were all he could think about. And that damnable accent. Crisp, like the crack of a whip on Conan’s ass. He moaned again.

 _It’s not my fault_  
_I’m not to blame_  
_It is the handsome Governor_  
_That started up this flame_  
_It’s not my fault_  
_If in stars’ plan_  
_They made him my obsession_  
_And my aim_

It was not Motti’s fault, it was not him. All the blame laid on the Grand Moff. The way Tarkin said his name, let his tongue fold around each syllable when the word escaped his mouth. Conan’s skin was burning with desire as his greedy eyes traced where Tarkin’s balls and cock would rest in the briefs. He buried his nose straight in the spot and inhaled deeply. A shiver shook his body, his cock growing even harder.

By the Emperor, this was so wrong. Motti was getting desperate. He saw the man in his dreams, and moaned the Governor’s name into his pillow, nose deep in Tarkin’s briefs as he masturbated. When Conan fucked his wife, he imagined Tarkin taking him instead, brutally and possessively. While standing on the bridge, the Admiral was grateful for the skirt of his tunic, as just a fleeing thought of Tarkin was enough to make his cock hard. What happened to him? This could not do. He wanted to throw out the briefs… But he couldn’t find the strength to do so.

 _Protect me, Emperor_  
_Don’t let this devil cast his spell_  
_Don’t let his ice encase my beating heart_  
_Destroy Wilhuff Tarkin_  
_And let him taste a blaster’s fire_  
_Or else let him be mine and mine alone_

Motti wanted Tarkin so badly. He closed his eyes and his imagination ran wild, letting him see the Governor again, feel his mouth covering Motti’s own, possessively pushing in with his tongue, dominating Conan completely. Motti could not be without him. He knew it was sinful to lust after an Outerimmer, especially for someone like him, no matter how high his rank. It was so wrong to imagine Tarkin pushing Motti down on his desk and fucking him raw without any lube, until Motti was sobbing with desperate want like a two credit whore. Conan hissed and moaned again, sick with himself, but his body was strung tight, insufferably hot, and buzzing with intense, burning passion.

There was no choice for him anymore. Still holding the briefs in one hand, he put the other down his pants and palmed his erection. But Motti didn’t find any relief. He cussed aloud and whimpered needily. Damn the man. Hell take him!

 _Hell laser_  
_Green laser_  
_Now Tarkin, it’s your turn_  
_Chose me or_  
_A blaster_  
_Be mine or you will die_

Conan’s resolve hardened. Action had to be taken, whatever the results. A plan slowly formed in his twisted mind, a plan to finally get what he so desperately needed, wanted, desired…

 _Emperor have mercy on him_  
_Emperor have mercy on me_  
_But he will be mine_  
_Or he will die!_

It had to be like this or Motti would go mad and take everyone else down with him.

Wilhuff Tarkin would be his or he will perish by a blaster’s fire.


End file.
